Pillow Talk
by king-caboodle
Summary: Varric Tethras is used to having all the right answers, but a mourning Hawke leaves him speechless. One-shot. Established Hawke/Varric.


Varric Tethras is not known for silence. He is a well-placed joke in a moment of tension, or a honey-dipped lie in the face of brewing trouble. He is a sharp shot and an even sharper wit, the finest wordsmith in all of Thedas. A paragon of talking the talk. Yet even a big mouth like him knows when to let someone else do the talking.

In the early morning silence of the Hanged Man, her arrival can only be described as a rude awakening. Varric counts the pieces of her armor as they hit the floor. One blade thrown down by the bookshelves. Two gauntlets tossed carelessly onto the table, followed by one chest piece dropping to the floor. Two boots kicked off into two different directions and the rustlings of her underclothes. He knows how this game ends, having been an active player for weeks now. One Hawke slipping in between his sheets.

Varric doesn't stir, doesn't open his eyes, doesn't even breathe. After almost a month of this, Hawke has become his most consistent wake-up call. And yet pretends to sleep. Pretends not to know that she's here until she takes it upon herself to wake him up. He realizes that this is just another part of the game that they find themselves playing. Hawke isn't stupid. Her jokes might be, but she isn't. She knows that he's expecting her, especially after a night of waiting for her to return from prowling the streets of Kirkwall without him. She knows that he's up with the first light of morning, waiting to hear her bang her way into his room until something as simple as climbing into bed becomes earth-shattering. So Varric waits. He waits for the inevitable weight of her arm thrown around his middle, her fingers trailing absently across his stomach. He waits for the press of her breasts against his back, her teeth nipping gently at the top of his ear. He waits for her to roll him onto his back, her voice sparkling with laughter as she accuses him of feigning sleep.

He waits, and he waits, but the touches never come. If he didn't hear her breathing, Varric would have assumed that Hawke was gone, assumed that she had never come in the first place. Varric opens his eyes, wondering if this was just something new that they were trying out this morning. As he debates whether he should play along or turn around, he hears it.

"I miss Bethany."

The voice is small and unfamiliar, certainly not the same voice he is accustomed to hearing hurl swears from the center of a brawl. Varric rolls over, a frown working its way onto his face. Hawke stares at him, her wide brown eyes devoid of their familiar mischievous light. Her thick, dark brows are knitted together. "I miss Bethany, Varric." She repeats, this time more forcefully. "If she - if I hadn't brought her with us. If I had just listened to Mother and _left her home_ , she wouldn't have-" Hawke's voice breaks, and she clamps her mouth shut.

He reaches out to her instinctively, pulling her into his chest and holding on as tightly as he can. Sibling love is not something he's personally accustomed to, even before Bartrand left them stranded in that thaig. But Hawke is different. Hawke and Sunshine, Sunshine and Hawke - that's just the way things had been and were supposed to always be. From the moment he had seen them being booted out of Bartrand's office, he knew they were inseparable.

"Was I selfish, Varric?" Hawke's voice is muffled in his chest, her nails digging into his back as she pulls him impossibly closer. "I just gave her to them. I just let them take her away. For what? So I could spare myself the guilt of knowing that I killed her?" She looks up at him, the tears flowing freely now. "My only sister, the only sibling I had left, and I just-" her voice catches, and she sits up abruptly. Her palms are pressed to her eyes, and Varric can see his own blood drying on her fingernails. "I just let her go. I just let them-"

Hawke crumples, her small body heaving with sobs. Varric wants to say something clever, wants to put his silver tongue to good use like he always does. He wants to tell her that it's not her fault. He wants to remind her of how tightly she had held onto Bethany's arm. Remind her that it had taken him, Blondie, _and_ Aveline to unlatch her from her sister's side. Remind her that she had screamed and bawled as the Wardens took Sunshine away, how she had lied face down on the stone long after they had disappeared from view. Varric wants to tell her all these things and more, and yet words fail him.

Instead he wraps his arms around her shoulders and draws her shuddering body into his, rocking gently until the howling stops. He listens to her blame herself over and over until she finally tires herself out, her head drooping against his shoulder. Varric lies beside her as she sleeps, occasionally wiping the stray tears still rolling down her cheeks. He thinks of all the things to say to her when she wakes up, and his head is full of reassurances and warm words as her eyelids begin to flutter open.

Hawke yawns, stretching deeply before turning to focus on him. For a moment she looks confused, and it takes a minute for the realization to set in on her face. The look on her face is knowing and almost bashful, and she brushes her forefinger gently across his lips. "I didn't mean to wake you." She mumbles, nuzzling into him and placing a kiss on his shoulder.

He knows that he has all the words that will ease her mind at the ready. He knows that he can tell her exactly what she needs to hear. For a moment, his lips part and he lets out her name. He feels her body stiffen, her muscles tensing in preparation for the blow.

Varric sighs and hugs her closer. He keeps his mouth shut.


End file.
